lla.theburninghills-第15节

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y　idea。〃
　His　hand　was　at　the　bottom　of　the　holster　as　he　spoke。　He　had　only　to　bend　his　elbow　to　grasp　the　butt。　He　bent　his　elbow　suddenly。　His　hand　grasped　his　gun　butt　and　suddenly　he　was　choking　with　the　lust　to　kill。　He　drew　…
　The　bullets　smashed　him　in　the　belly　like　two　fists；　a　hard　one…two　that　set　him　back　on　his　heels。　He　put　his　left　foot　back　to　steady　himself　and　started　to　lift　his　gun　but　when　he　got　his　hand　up　he　found　it　was　empty。
　Confused；　he　stared　blindly　at　his　hand　and　then　his　knees　buckled　and　he　fell。　His　body　from　the　waist　down　was　numb；　yet　his　brain　was　alive　and　clear。　He　tried　to　speak；　to　see　the　face　of　the　man　who　stood　there；　watching　him。　He　tried　to　frame　words　but　then　the　notion　faded　。。。　this　then　was　how　it　felt　to　die。
　The　last　thing　he　remembered　was　the　wet　grass　on　his　face。
　Trace　Jordan　walked　forward；　circling　a　little；　knowing　his　bullets　had　gone　true；　yet　wary　as　always；　taking　no　chances；　estimating　the　danger　of　the　man　who　lay　there。
　〃Maria　Cristina？〃　Then　she　was　ing　toward　him。　〃We　must　ride　now。　They'll　be　ing。〃　He　gestured。　〃Take　his　horse。　He　hasn't　covered　the　ground　yours　has。〃
　Into　the　desert　they　rode。　Sand　and　more　sand。　Rock；　Spanish　dagger；　yucca；　ocotiflo　and　broken　lava。　It　was　a　brutal　heat…baked　corner　of　hell。
　The　cacti　cast　weird　shadows　in　the　moonlit　night　and　a　low　wind　moaned　in　the　scattered　clumps　of　brush。　They　rode　in　silence；　knowing　there　was　no　returning　now。　Another　Sutton　had　died　and　made　another　mark　against　them。
　The　Sierra　de　San　Luis　pointed　a　rocky　finger　into　the　wastelands　south　of　the　border。　It　was　Apache　country　and　it　was　the　desert　and　the　desert　can　kill。　This　was　the　land　that　time　and　again　had　defeated　armies　of　the　United　States。　This　was　the　land　of　the　peccary　and　coyote；　the　land　of　the　rattler　and　the　scorpion；　of　the　prickly　pear　and　the　cholla。
　In　the　moonlight　even　more　than　by　day　the　desert　is　a　place　of　weird　and　strange　beauty。　One　can　live　in　the　desert。　There　are　plants　that　provide　food；　there　are　plants　and　places　that　provide　water。　But　if　one　does　not　conform　to　the　desert's　pattern；　one　can　die　in　the　desert
　They　did　not　talk。　When　the　first　light　of　dawn　came　he　saw　how　her　face　was　bruised　and　swollen　and　for　the　first　time　Trace　Jordan　was　glad　that　he　had　killed　a　man。　Yet　she　did　not　plain；　she　sat　her　horse　well　and　rode　straight　on　into　the　awful　wilderness　to　the　south。　He　looked　back　but　saw　nothing。　No　riders；　no　dust；　no　movement。
　Sweat　trickled　down　his　face　and　down　his　body　under　his　shirt。　Twice　within　three　hours　great　canyons　split　the　desert　floor。　They　descended　into　them　and　they　emerged　from　them。　And　when　he　looked　back　a　second　time　there　was　a　dust　cloud。　There　were　two　dust　clouds。
　This　was　wilderness；　raw；　untamed。　There　were　no　villages　and　no　ranches。　It　was　the　land　of　the　Apache；　the　most　dreaded　guerilla　fighter　the　world　has　yet　known。　When　it　was　almost　noon　he　drew　up　and　they　dismounted；　sponging　out　the　mouths　and　nostrils　of　their　horses。　And　then　they　walked。
　Dust　settled　on　their　faces　and　necks。　Jordan　felt　his　neck　growing　raw　from　the　chafing　of　his　collar；　stiffened　as　it　was　by　sweat　and　dust。　His　head　ached；　his　mouth　was　dry；　yet　they　pushed　on　and　the　heat　waves　moved　in　closer　around　them；　blotting　out　the　distance；　leaving　only　a　vast　shimmering　waste。
　Twice；　for　short　times；　they　rested。　Each　time　the　dust　clouds　seemed　closer。
　〃You　know　this　country？〃　he　asked。
　〃Down　here？　No。〃
　〃There　is　a　place；　the　Canyon　de　Los　Embudos；〃　he　said。　〃Do　you　know　it？〃
　〃It　is　an　Apache　place。〃
　〃There　is　water；〃　he　said；　〃and　a　place　to　hide。〃
　The　country　became　increasingly　broken　and　again　they　mounted。　Yet　before　many　miles　had　passed　Sutton's　horse　began　to　stumble。　The　big　red　horse　Jordan　rode　had　rested　well　and　fed　well。　The　distance　seemed　as　nothing　to　him。　They　dismounted　again　and　walked　on　but　Sutton's　horse　fell　and　lay　there　in　the　sun。
　〃Take　the　food　and　the　rifle；〃　Jordan　said。　〃We'll　leave　him。〃
　〃He　will　die？〃
　〃No　。。。　after　the　sun　goes　down　he'll　get　up。　He　will　find　water　then　or　join　them　when　they　e　up。〃
　So　they　walked　on　but　his　strength　had　not　returned　and　after　a　while　the　horizon　began　to　weave　and　dance　before　him　and　the　mountains　became　like　liquid　and　he　went　to　his　knees。　He　got　up　at　once　and　started　on；　tearing　his　collar　wider。　The　gun　belts　and　pistols　chafed　his　thighs。
　They　looked　back　and　there　were　no　dust　clouds。　He　looked　ahead　and　three　Apaches　on　ragged　ponies　stared　stone…faced　into　their　eyes。　It　was　too　late　for　the　rifle　and　he　did　not　know　if　his　hand　was　strong　enough　to　hold　a　gun。
　From　under　his　black　hat　brim　he　looked　at　them。　Three　tough　men　of　the　desert；　their　finely　muscled　bodies　shaped　like　the　land　itself；　of　rock　and　sinew。　Being　Apaches；　they　would　have　seen　the　dust　clouds　and　they　would　be　wondering　about　them。
　Jordan　gestured　at　their　back　trail　〃Enemy；〃　he　said；　then　indicated　Maria　Cristina's　battered　face　and　touched　his　gun。
　They　were　impassive；　their　black　eyes　studying　him。　He　was　sunburned　and　as　dark　as　any　of　them；　only　his　eyes　were　gray。　Maria　Cristina　looked　at　them　but　said　nothing。　Her　man　was　talking　and　this　was　man's　business。
　〃Indio？〃　An　Apache　pointed　at　her。
　Jordan　gave　the　sign　for　half；　then　indicated　himself　with　the　same　sign。　This　last　was　not　true　but　he　had　the　features　and　could　have　been　and　the　idea　might　help。
　The　Apache　with　the　red　headband　turned　and　pointed。　〃Embetdos；〃　he　said。
　〃Si；〃　Jordan　replied　and　when　the　Apaches　drew　aside；　they　went　on；　walking　slowly。　Neither　of　them　spoke；　neither　made　a　sound　until　they　were　hidden　in　an　arroyo。　Then　he　swung　quickly　to　the　saddle　and　with　Maria　Cristina　behind　him　rode　rapidly　until　several　miles　were　behind　them。
　Hours　later；　his　feet　aching　and　his　body　utterly　exhausted；　he　was　still　moving。　Yet　now　the　terrain　had　changed。　They　had　entered　a　weird　jungle　of　Spanish　dagger；　cholla　and　Joshua；　all　broken　by　the　remains　of　an　ancient　lava　flow。　The　spaces　between　the　cacti　and　the　fallen　black　chunks　of　kva　were　crowded　with　brittle　bush。
　For　what　must　have　been　six　or　seven　miles　they　inched　their　way　through　this　barrier；　at　times　at　a　loss　as　to　how　to　go　forward；　then；　mounting　a　hill　amid　a　thick　forest　of　cholla；　they　suddenly　looked　into　a　ravine　that　was　startlingly　and　incredibly　lovely。
　Below　them　was　water。　Not　a　little　water　but　a　large　clear　pool　surrounded　by　jutting　kva。　Shading　the　pool　were　sycamore；　ash；　willow　and　buckthorn。　And　down　near　the　edge　of　the　pool　were　several　small　open　places　where　they　could　see　the　remains　of　old　fires。
　Dismounting；　Jordan　led　the　way　down　the　steep　path　to　the　water's　edge。　Following　along　the　shore　under　an　overhang　of　lava　they　came　to　a　small　clearing　among　the　trees；　pletely　shaded　and　masked　from　view　by　a　curtain　of　willows。　Here　they　stopped。　With　almost　the　last　of　his　strength　Jordan　stripped　the　saddle　from　the　red　horse　and　put　him　on　a　picket　rope。
　Then　without　a　word　he　stretched　out　and　went　immediately　to　sleep；　a　sleep　through　which　horses　raced　and　guns　barked　and　where　he　was　endlessly　falling　over　blocks　of　lava　into　acres　of　cholla。
　When　he　awakened　it　was　dark　and　cold　but　a　blanket　had　been　thrown　over　him。　Faintly　he　smelled　a　wood　fire。　He　rolled　over　and　sat　up。
　〃There　is　food；〃　Maria　Cristina　spoke　from　die　shadows。　〃By　the　fire。〃
　He　stumbled　to　the　edge　of　the　pool　and　bathed　himself；　mopping　his　face　and　body　dry　with　his　shirt。　Wrapping　himself　in　a　blanket；　he　went　to　the　fire。
　There　was　a　pot　of　stew　and　he　ate　hungrily；　then　ate　from　a　stick　of　tortillas。　Then　he　sat　down；　looking　at　the　moonlight's　reflection　on　the　dark　water；　listening　to　the　night　sounds　and　drinking　coffee。
　〃Suppose　Lantz　knows　this　place？〃　he　asked。
　〃Who　knows？〃
　She　was　silent　for　a　time。　〃He　is　a　devil　。。。　but　not　so　bad　as　the　rest。〃
　They　needed　rest；　the　horse　needed　rest。　To　go　on　in　the　night　was　out　of　ihe　question。　They　would　just　take　a　chance。　They　must　stay。
　〃My　father　。。。　he　knew　of　this　place。　It　is　a　place　of　ihe　Indies；　of　the　Apaches。　They　e　here　to　make　talk　…　but　not　often；　I　think。〃
　He　got　up　stiffly；　every　muscle　plaining；　and　going　to　his　saddle　he　got　his　bed　roll。　He　spread　out　his　blankets　and　took　off　his　boots。
　When　he　had　stretched　out　he　said；　〃I　am　sorry　about　your　face。〃
　〃It　is　nothing。〃
　〃The　man　I　killed？〃
　〃Si　。。。　Jack　Sutton。〃
　He　drew　the　blanket　about　his　shoulders　and　settled　down　to　rest。　Once；　lifting　his　head；　he　glanced　around。　She　sat　unmoved　and　unmoving；　her　profile　etched　sharply　against　the　sky　beyond　the　lake。　He　started　to　speak；　then　changed　his　mind　and　lay　down。　In　a　moment　he　was　breathing　deeply　and　steadily。
　Maria　Cristina　hunched　the　blanket　around　her　shoulders　and　looked　at　the　water。　She　said　nothing；　she　thought　nothing；　she　was　at　this　moment　an　Indian；　at　one　with　her　world。
　Fifteen　miles　back；　huddled　under　an　escarpment　of　sandstone；　Hindeman　and　his　men　made　dry　camp。　It　had　been　a　day　of　defeat；　of　heat；　dust　and　cacti。
　At　dawn　they　had　found　Jack　Sutton。　He　ha